


Mirror Mirror

by PsychGirl (snycock)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-05
Updated: 2009-11-05
Packaged: 2019-06-13 03:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15355476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snycock/pseuds/PsychGirl
Summary: Blair's always been a bit of a voyeur





	Mirror Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Elaine, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Artifact Storage Room 3](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Artifact_Storage_Room_3) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Artifact Storage Room 3’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/artifactstorageroom3/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This was my contribution to the 2009 Moonridge Donate An Orgasm Challenge. Big thanks to anxiety_junkie for the beta!

The soft scrape and thump of the dresser drawer woke him, and Blair raised his head, peering blearily in the gray light of dawn at the shape standing next to the bed.

“Sssh,” Jim said, his hand warm on the base of Blair’s spine, “go back to sleep. I’m just going for a run.”

He flopped back down and mumbled something in response that might have been, “Hang on a sec, I’ll go with you,” but probably wasn’t, given that he’d been the one to chase their embezzler down ten flights of stairs, across a parking lot, into a dark alley, and over two – not one, but two – chain-link fences, while Jim was trapped in an elevator between the fourth and fifth floors. _Yeah, I deserve the rest_ , he thought, reasonably, and dropped back into sleep.

The next time he woke, it was to Jim’s soft tread as he headed down the stairs. There was silence for a moment, then he heard the bathroom door click shut and the water start. He sighed and rolled over onto his back, sliding his hand under his boxers to sleepily scratch himself. It was Saturday, and they had the next two days off, with no particular plans except to relax and enjoy themselves. Which Blair intended to start doing the moment Jim got out of the shower.

But the gentle susurrus of the water must have lulled him back to sleep, because the next thing he knew, Jim was padding quietly across their room, a towel slung low around his hips. 

Blair smiled to himself, careful not to move a muscle, trying to keep his breathing even. There was no better way to start the weekend than engaging in a little Jim-gazing. 

He couldn’t help it; he was a voyeur at heart. After all, there’d been a reason he’d been attracted to an academic field that specialized in observing people. And it wasn’t like Jim didn’t know Blair liked to look at him. He just didn’t seem to get why.

“It’s just genetics, Sandburg,” he’d said, shrugging one shoulder. “Seems wrong to pat myself on the back for it.”

“It’s not all genetics,” Blair had protested. “You work out at the gym.”

“That’s just good practical sense,” Jim had replied. “I need to be fit; I need my body to function well. There’s no vanity about it.”

He’d watched Jim openly a few times after that, but – surprising for someone with as little body modesty as Jim – it seemed to make Jim self-conscious. Then one morning he’d woken up as Jim was dressing after his shower, and, voila, he’d discovered his newest pastime.

Jim walked over to stand in front of the full-length mirror, and Blair felt a shiver race down his spine. When he’d seen it perched outside the thrift store, as they’d emerged from their favorite dim sum restaurant, he knew he had to have it. It had taken some fast-talking on his part, but Jim capitulated quickly, probably because he was all too familiar with the verbal aerobics Blair could produce when he really wanted something. They’d taken it home, and Jim had helped him set it up in their room, but they’d been so busy since then that Blair hadn’t really had an opportunity to appreciate it. But now – thanks to all the gods and goddesses of the universe, great and small – he was going to get his chance. 

His cock twitched at the thought, and he realized that he still had one hand down his shorts, left there when he’d fallen asleep after his morning scratch. Surreptitiously he shifted his hips, easing himself into a better position.

Jim pulled the towel off, dropping it to the floor, and Blair stifled a groan. He moved his hips a fraction more, just enough to allow his fingers to curl loosely around his stiffening cock.

Peering into the mirror, Jim brushed his hand lightly over his hair, giving himself a penetrating yet utilitarian going-over. It was the same way he looked at his truck, Blair thought, when he was trying to figure out if she needed some work done, or the way he examined his gun as he cleaned it. 

Blair realized he was holding his breath. Releasing it in a long sigh, as quietly as possible, he allowed himself to wallow in the view.

Jim looked down, his head bowed, nape bared. Blair felt a surge of tenderness and desire; his hands trembled. There was something almost overwhelming about seeing Jim like this, standing unaware in front of the mirror, his long body reminiscent of a statue cast in marble, but also startlingly human and fragile.

Hungrily, he let his gaze travel along Jim’s shoulders, muscular but lithe, and follow the long, curved sweep of his spine down to the shallow dip at the base. He could almost taste the skin there, damp from the shower and slightly salty. He swallowed, feeling himself flush, and licked his lips. 

Jim scratched his side, absently, and Blair watched the muscles bunch and gather, sliding under Jim’s pale skin, dusted with dark hair. He could see how sinew and muscle sculpted grooves into Jim’s lean hips; the indentations where Blair’s hands would fit perfectly as he pushed into that round, tight ass, and he clenched his jaw shut to keep his whimper from escaping. Tightening his grip on his cock, he eased it back against his belly for a less obstructed angle.

The real advantage of the mirror was that he could see Jim’s front reflected perfectly. He exhaled again, noiselessly, and stroked himself lightly as he devoured the sight - Jim’s smooth, muscular chest, his nipples tight and peaked after coming out of the warm steam of the shower; his flat, taut stomach. Jim’s cock, nestled in a dark bush of hair, lay slack and pale against his long thighs. His calves tapered down to slim ankles and lanky, narrow feet. 

Jim raised his head, turning towards the window as if he’d heard something outside on the street. Blair could see his profile, sharp in the early morning light. He held his breath, not daring to move, and after a moment Jim turned back to the mirror. He raised a hand to rub at his shoulder and Blair clamped his lips shut against a moan.

God, he loved Jim’s hands. Long-fingered and supple, they were marvels of versatility, capable of delivering a powerful right hook as easily as they caressed Blair’s skin. Just looking at those hands made him break out in goosebumps. He’d often thought that Jim’s sense of touch, while not always the most useful for their cases, was his favorite sense. It was certainly the one that captivated Jim the most when they made love.

He watched dazedly as Jim’s fingers trailed across his collarbone, then slid slowly down the middle of his chest. Jim relaxed his stance, shifting his weight over to one hip and bending his other knee. His hand continued to glide downwards across his belly, until his bent fingers were just brushing the top of his cock, which was flushed and lengthening, lifting gracefully....

_Oh, shit_. Blair gulped and raised his eyes to Jim’s reflected face. _Busted_.

Jim was regarding him in the mirror, a lazy smile curving one corner of his long mouth. His half-lidded eyes were incandescent, as hot and as blue as the summer sky, and the hunger in them made Blair shiver. 

But he was not going to let Jim one-up him on this. Pushing the covers aside, he shimmied out of his boxers to lay bare-assed and spread-eagled on the sheets. Grinning, he pushed himself up on one elbow; with his free hand he grasped his cock again and set up a firm, smooth stroke.

Jim’s smile deepened and he wrapped his hand around his own dick, taking up the challenge, matching Blair’s rhythm. 

They continued like that for several minutes, their gazes locked in the mirror, the only sound the whisper of skin against skin and the harsh rasp of their breathing. But, finally, Jim’s eyes closed; his head fell back as a shudder worked through his tall frame and his face twisted in pleasure.

Blair gasped, the sight of Jim’s orgasm shattering him, pushing him over the edge. His dick pulsed in his hand; toes curling, he fell back onto the bed, lights exploding behind his eyes. 

He lay there, floating, enjoying the sensations that rippled through him. After a while, he felt the mattress dip, felt the rough kiss of terrycloth against his belly and chest. Then Jim’s mouth, gentle against his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips; Jim’s breath warm and damp on his skin.

Opening his eyes, he smiled drowsily up at Jim, propped up next to him on his elbow. “Hey,” he said. “I guess you caught me.”

Jim cocked an eyebrow, his eyes teasing. “You think I don’t know why you wanted to get that mirror?” His fingers played idly over Blair’s chest. 

“Yeah, well,” Blair said, chuckling, “you seemed to enjoy that just as much as I did.”

Jim leaned in close, his breath tickling Blair’s ear. “You know what I’d _really_ enjoy,” he said, his voice low and vibrant, “is watching your reflection as I’m fucking you.”

His cock gave a weak throb. If he hadn’t been so spent already, he’d have come right there and then. “Oh. Yes,” he gasped, breath stolen away at the thought. 

Jim gave him a smile loaded with heat and promise, and then nudged him towards the edge of the bed. “Come on,” he said, “it’s your turn to cook breakfast.”


End file.
